


Roadblock

by LoadedGunn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amazing Race AU, M/M, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoadedGunn/pseuds/LoadedGunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>No one can say Louis isn't motivated to win The Amazing Race. He wants to be the best partner Liam can have, and his mum could definitely use the million quid. But. He noticed Harry two seconds after reading their first clue and then sort of hasn't stopped. How could he, Harry's a two-metre, tattooed, good-humoured charmer who probably has an arsenal of bad jokes and fifty pets with unimaginative names. So he kept an eye on him, like he would all their competitors. Just to measure him up.</i>
</p><p>Or, an Amazing Race AU where Louis and Liam are the driven, athletic guys who are in it to win it, Harry and Niall are the useless best friends that get by due to luck and possibly magic, and somewhere between Italy and Japan Louis falls inconveniently in love. (Also Zayn is the supermodel host.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Europe

**Author's Note:**

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>  YAY NEW AU. In case you've never watched the Amazing Race:  
> The point: 11 teams of two partners with different gimmicks race through the world and complete impossible challenge to win a million pounds.  
> Roadblock: a challenge that only one team member can complete.  
> Detour: a challenge where you have to choose between two equally difficult tasks.  
> Pit Stops: the final destination in each country. It's where you meet the host, find out which place you got in, and get to sleep/hang out before the next leg of the race.  
> ENJOY PLEASE COMMENT JESUS CHRIST THE GIFS TOOK A LONG TIME  
> (psst [my tumblr](http://loaded-gunn.tumblr.com/)) 

"So I'm Liam."

"I'm Louis. We've been best mates since secondary school, innit?"

"Yeah, since we moved to – "

"Uh," the woman trying to interview them interrupts. "I didn't mean that kind of introduction. I meant, like, tell us what it's been like so far, why you think you're gonna win, that sort of thing."

Louis laughs and Liam sighs on his behalf. "He knew that, he was just pulling your leg."

"Oh." She seems half put-off and half amused. That's usually the reaction Louis gets. The truth is, sitting in front of a telly camera and talking about himself brings out the twat in him. He doesn't let his nerves show, though. They're shooting this interview at the Italian Pit Stop, one week into the race; he's gotten used to cameras hovering around him in the most ludicrous situations he's ever found himself in. Plus, Liam has known for years how much of a twat he is under pressure, so he's made Louis rehearse this.

"The race is going quite good," Liam starts, kicking Louis' ankle to get him to play along. "We both, well, have a tendency to take charge, so it was a bit difficult to get along at the beginning, but now we're well-sorted."

"We both have our strengths, you know? Liam's really tough, I'm really funny."

"Oh come on, Tommo," Liam reprimands, like Louis was being self-deprecating and not hilarious. "Louis' smarter than me; whenever we have to figure out a clue he does it like _that_. Also I can't drive, so ta for that." Louis rolls his eyes and Liam ignores him. "I think we're a good team because we're both thrill-seekers. After uni we both went to South America and did a lot of bungee jumping and that sort of thing. Got a taste for it."

"What he means to say is that we were in Peru for a week and then went to North America and did some surfing."

The interviewer, Caroline he thinks, snorts, and Liam crosses his arms. "That was high-risk, too!"

Louis is about to say something sarcastic, but there's a bit of a ruckus going on behind the production crew, and then Louis completely loses track of the conversation because Harry Styles stumbles into the room with his usual grace (mostly lack-thereof), apologises profusely, and then spots Louis and beams.

"So you're thrill-seekers?" Caroline prompts.

"Yeah, with the bungee challenge in Piemonte..." Louis trails off and has to cover his mouth with his hand so as not to giggle on national telly. "I'm sorry, Harry's pulling funny faces."

When everyone in the room turns to him, Harry looks positively angelic, no trace of the cross-eyed maniac that had been harassing Louis two minutes ago. "I'll just, uh, go," he says, and shuffles off.

Louis sort of wants to call after him, to get him to stay, but he guesses the cameras have enough of their shenanigans as it is. Liam's looking at him strangely, so Louis natters about Liam's overflowing manliness and how he plans to rely on him for the entire race. By the time he's done, Liam's actually blushing and trying to knock Louis off his folding chair. He might still be thinking about Harry.

Harry and his mate Niall are an anomaly. They're the knobheads of the series, managing to be the underdogs and everyone's favourites at the same time. They are positively helpless, or maybe just extremely cunning. Harry is this clumsy woodland animal, Niall can't navigate for shit, neither of them can focus on clues for more than half a minute and neither have a competitive bone in their bodies. They get on through sheer luck and flirting with the locals. They reached the Pit Stop in Vatican City ten minutes after Louis and Liam, who hung back to bask in their second-place glory, and even Zayn (the impartial, supermodel/Perrie-Edwards'-ex-boyfriend host) seemed delighted to see them.

Louis hangs around when Harry and Niall do their little interview. Apparently they've known each other since college, and decided to take a gap year before Niall went to uni and Harry went to become a pop sensation. That was two years ago. Apparently Harry signed them up and Niall went along because Niall doesn't give too many shits about anything. Apparently they think they can win because, "why not?". Apparently Harry is not any more immune to funny faces than Louis is.

No one can say Louis isn't driven. He wants to be the best partner Liam can have, and fuck if his mum couldn't use the million quid. But. He noticed Harry two seconds after reading their first clue and then sort of hasn't stopped (how could he, Harry's a two-metre, tattooed, good-humoured charmer who probably has an arsenal of bad jokes and fifty pets with unimaginative names). So he kept an eye on him, like he would all their competitors. Just to measure him up. Maybe make him laugh a few times, to figure him out.

He really thought he would get away with it, too, until Caroline asks Harry, "Who do you get on with?"

He blinks a few times and then looks straight at the camera and says, "Lou and Liam, for sure."

Niall snorts. "He'd sell me out for Louis any day."

Louis would quite like to bury himself in the depths of hell. Niall seems to reassure both Harry and Louis when he adds, "It's alright, I'd trade you for Zayn, myself."

"You'd trade me for a pizza," Harry says, more exasperated than accusatory. "You should have seen him in Rome, he needed a bloody leash. He stuffed his pockets with lasagne and pasta and whatever, ignoring all the shortcuts so we could find more food. Did you know one time we went out and you left me at that pub with Paul, went and found a cheap steak house off Camden and then probably forgot to come back? I ran into Taylor Swift that night. Also, we lost the pub quiz. I never lose the pub quiz."

Niall, who probably stopped listening after _lasagne_ , pushes his snapback up and eyes Harry. "I'd trade you for ravioli, definitely."

"Okay then!" Caroline actually claps to get them back on track. "How are you getting ready for the next leg in Spain?"

While Niall brags that he can sing a few Lion King songs in Spanish, Louis has to duck out of the room to reassemble his face into something less hopelessly fond and more ruggedly handsome. Liam's expression tells him he's doing a shit job.

(The thing about the race is that it _is_ reality television, and each team is supposed to draw a certain audience. They need a shtick. Liam and he could either be the driven, athletic guys who are in it to win it. Liam and he could also be the gay-straight best friends who, through the race, get to know and understand each other better. Louis hasn't made a conscious choice, but when the cameras are on him he may lean a bit towards Eleanor and Lindsay more than he would Harry.)

He'll get over it.

**España**

  


Louis doesn't actually think Harry Styles depends on him 100% to survive. It's only that he's saved him from getting pummelled by a beam in Seville. And that he helpfully remarked _you only have to sift through that to find the clue, not eat your way in_ , so Harry didn't die of chorizo overdose.

Then there's the task where Louis has to hang off Liam who's hanging off a rafter, for five whole minutes, and he loses his grip and falls three bloody times because Louis has short arms and an arse that won't quit (if he doesn't come back to London with a six-pack, he's fucked).

Harry and Niall manage to hold on for five minutes on the first try, because Harry could moonlight as a sloth-spider-giraffe thing and Niall could eat every disgusting thing on this show and still be a 60-kilo pixie. However, when Louis and Liam finally manage to get the fuck out of there and work out where the next challenge is, they find Niall and Harry still at the car park, trying to solve the clue. Louis is confident enough in their position in the race to lend a helping hand. Also he wants in Harry's pants. (It's week two and it's the first time Harry caught up to Louis and Liam and he's a bit excited because _Harry Harry Harry_.)

So he waits for Liam to put the bags in the boot and walks up to Harry casually. "Mate, just follow us, yeah?"

Harry blinks at him for a few seconds before beaming like an angel. Louis almost sighs like an old man. "For real?"

Niall isn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. He shoves Harry aside and pulls Louis in for a hug. "Cheers!"

Louis feels exceptionally good about himself as a person. Harry gives him a hug too, and it's a bit different than Niall because he's ridiculously taller and leaner and goofier and clingier and the very best hugger. Louis could melt into it while sighing the sighs of old men.

(The first thing Harry said to him was, "Is this the right time to say I think I'll get lost in five minutes?", and no, it was five minutes before takeoff in London, definitely not the right time to confess this to a competitor. Louis thought, _who is this moron?_ and then he gave him a good look and realised Harry wasn't a helpless idiot, he was a _cheeky bastard_ who could probably get Zayn Malik himself to give him directions straight to the check-in mat. Louis blinked up at him and said, "That'll be one less guy to worry about." Harry smiled easily and replied, "But where's the fun in that?" and Louis really just wanted to give him a hug and tell him he's going to be a star.)

Louis pulls out of their parking spot and it takes Liam five minutes to point out, "Tommo, I think they're following us."

"Who?" Louis asks innocently. Those acting classes are really paying off.

"The Irishman and the pop star."

He frowns. "He's not a pop star."

"That's not a stage name?"

Louis blinks. He still thinks that's a bit of an unfair assumption, considering George and Josh actually are in a boy band. "Lottie would have told me."

"Well, if he's not a pop star he shouldn't do his hair like that."

"Is someone having curl envy?" He risks a car crash to reach over and rub Liam's head, as he had done on a daily basis ever since the buzz cut became a thing. It was really a downward spiral from there. Liam cut his hair, broke up with his long-term girlfriend, got high and dropped a few courses to go travelling with Louis, all in the span of a year. Louis had to sign them up for The Amazing Race just to keep Liam from doing something even more drastic. Like signing them up for Hell's Kitchen or The X Factor.

"Whatever," Liam says, eyes glued to the map. "I quite like them, but I will be seeing Zayn first this leg."

"Hoping for another hug, are we?"

Liam's likeability might be his selling point, but Louis couldn't have guessed Zayn would be so instantly fond of him. Then again, he also couldn't have guessed how goofy Zayn Malik really is in real life. So Liam has a serious mancrush. "Lou, he smells so good. If I fancied blokes, he would be the One. Weren't you all over him when we watched last series?"

"You're confusing me with my sisters," Louis shoots off.

"I doubt your fifteen year old sister would say half the things you said about Zayn."

Louis aggressively wishes that were true, but he heard Lottie on the phone with her B-F-F one too many times to believe it. He wishes he were a stereotypical gay character in a teen drama where he and his sister would bond over makeovers, not men they want to do inappropriate things to. This is nothing Louis wants to say on camera, so he hedges. "Yeah, back when he was Perrie Edwards' cool and mysterious boyfriend. Now that I know he's actually kind of ridiculous... I dunno, I just don't feel it."

"Right, 'cause you're not into ridiculous boys with ridiculous hair," Liam mutters so the mics won't catch it.

Louis squints at the rear-view mirror only to spot Liam smirking back at him. He ignores him for the rest of the trip. It might not be the best call, seeing as Liam's navigating, but Louis isn't going to give him the satisfaction.

When they wrap up Buñol (a tomato fight, obviously, where one partner has to look for a clue in a mountain of the fruit while the other partner pelts a rival team with tomatoes. Liam nearly gets buried alive and starts swearing like he hasn't in all his twenty years, and Louis completely fucks up Nick and it is the best day) they find they need to catch a train to Valencia. However, the clue says the last train's already departed so they have to stay at a Spanish hotel overnight.

"Cab or walk?" Louis asks.

Liam glares at him for leaving the choice to him. The sensible thing to do would be just to walk for a bit, but Liam's the one with tomatoes behind his ears. "Cab," Louis decides for him. Liam smiles and throws himself to the road to hail one. (After waiting for one for fifteen minutes in Madrid and almost missing their date with an angry bull, they take shit from no cabbie. Liam waves aggressively, Louis throws cash. It's not like it's his.)

They sum up the day and pray tomorrow's challenges will have something to do with Valencia CF, when their cab slows down at just the right time and Louis spots something outside. "Rápido," he blurts automatically, then quickly says, "Wait, uh, parar, perdón."

"Tommo?" Liam asks, then, "Oh."

Apparently, Harry and Niall have opted for walking to the hotel. So they made good time. "I can actually see them going against us in the final leg," he says to Liam, who is equally unsurprised.

"They won't ever get a clue right, but they will always get solid directions from locals, charm every grumpy cabbie and do the daring tasks for a laugh," Liam sums it up.

Louis' nodding but he's not really listening. It's been getting colder and Harry's cheeks are flushed and a beanie is pushing his curls into his face and he's just so lovely that Louis' brain devises an ill-advised plan in five seconds.

Niall's speaking Spanish excitedly and Harry's being cheeky and surrounded by enamoured Spanish girls. But Louis feels like they could use a cab. "Li, could we, um?"

Liam shrugs, which is good enough. "Josh, would you mind getting out?" he asks. Thank god Josh was the one filming them today. Louis could count on him to do as he asked, even if Josh would get shots of Louis offering to split a cab with a competing team. It's not, like, unethical. Liam and he are in third place right now, that's good enough.

Josh, being a mate, hefts up the camera and gets out of the cab, doesn't even say anything cheeky when Louis opens the window and starts yelling for Harry, "Hola! Cómo estás? Cabina? Amigos? Muchacho? Buenas noche?"

Liam has to pull Louis away from the window and elbow him hard, hissing that their cabbie will throw them out and then what was the bloody point, but Harry's laugh is too big for his body and it's marvellous. Politely disregarding his Spanish fans, Harry stumbles over to the cab and leans over Louis' window casually. It's all a bit attractive. "Well hello there."

Louis can't disagree. "Fancy splitting a cab? It'll really be a shame not to."

Harry smiles down at him. "Cheers."

For some reason, instead of just opening the door and sliding in next to Louis, he seems to make a move toward the driver's seat, which is on the wrong side of the car in Spain, until Niall steers him to the back seat. Harry really needs a compass, or a guide dog, or just a dash of spatial awareness. If Louis could look away from him, he'd probably see Liam mouth "ridiculous".

Once they're all inside Niall apologises to the cabbie and they drive off again. It's a tight squeeze in the back seat, with Liam's bulk and Harry's legs, but Louis frequents gay clubs (and gay people) that are tighter, so he's used to it.

"Who got fucked?" he asks over Liam's head. Harry turns wide eyes to him and Louis quickly tacks on, "In the tomatina thing. Who got pelted?"

Harry's little "oh" is magic. "I have shit aim, so I let Niall do the pelting." Louis is not imagining Harry's voice going even deeper than normal when he says, "I got fucked." There's a glint in his eyes.

Liam should just say "oh my god" and squirm in his seat, probably regret ending up between Harry and Louis. However, as he's a bad boy now, he doesn't even blink before saying, "For a lad that looks like a Disney princess you're a bit shameless."

Louis pinches him hard, but thankfully Harry just bursts out laughing. "The curls and dimples are a disguise, really," he confesses to Liam. "We're actually very competent and will win this race."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Liam sighs.

Louis sling an arm around Liam's shoulder, maybe perhaps by mistake knocking into Harry's bicep. It's quite defined. "We'll kick your arses, don't worry."

"Cabrón", Niall mutters from the front seat, and whatever that means, the cabbie seems to agree.

When they reach the hotel a few other teams are at the check-in, which means cameras, which means Louis keeps his distance from Harry. He's not sure why getting out of the cab together feels like a walk of shame. After a really weird foursome. He distracts himself by chatting with Calum and Luke, casually letting Liam get their bags. It backfires when Liam leaves the biggest one for Louis to carry up. Fine, Louis' the one that packed his entire flat, but Liam should be more considerate; he's twice Louis' size.

Once everything's inside their room, Louis debates what he wants to do. They're too knackered to find a pub but not tired enough to fall asleep. So Louis turns to tea. He packed about three hundred Yorkshire packages, along with his entire flat.

"Can't find any tea," he tells Liam, and gracefully ducks out of the room before Liam can call his bullshit.

The hotel is small and finding Harry's room is no trouble. The problem is avoiding the cameras. It's been two weeks and Louis' still putting on awkward shows and being a twat, in hopes that he's not giving off too much of a "I haven't had a good wank in two weeks" vibe.

He peeks out, waits for Sandy and Dan to film Nick Grimshaw being bloody hilarious, and then jumps up a few flights of stairs to room number 418. He knocks a bit nervously once he's actually there, but the feeling dissipates when it's Niall that opens the door. Jesus, the smell of weed hits Louis like a brick to the face. If there's one thing in England he hasn't packed, it's that. He really should have thought ahead.

Niall blinks at him a few times, then pokes his head out the door and waves at Josh. Louis curses and shoves Niall into his room. He hasn't read all – or any – of the rules, but he's pretty sure lighting up is frowned upon here. In front of the cameras, at least.

"Uh, hi," Niall says, hand already buried in crisps, which apparently they sell in _cans_ in Spain, what the fuck. "Patatas fritas?" Niall asks, handing over the crisps without actually removing his own hand and letting Louis take one.

"Nah," Louis says. All the tomatoes have left him queasy.

Niall shrugs. "Harry isn't here."

"Oh." Louis hopes he doesn't look as pathetic as he's just sounded. "Did he pull or something?"

Niall frowns into his can. "No, he said he went to – oh, wait, he said he went looking for your room to get some milk or summat? Did you bring it here for him? How neighboury."

What. This is supposed to be a reality show, not a comedy sketch. "No, I – I wanted some tea."

"Oh, well, there's some Earl Grey somewhere."

"I said tea."

Niall barks a surprised laugh. "Christ, he always goes for the sassy ones."

Louis delightedly files that away. A thought occurs to him. "D'you think he got lost?"

"Probably. He's taking this no-phone thing really hard. Sometimes we're in the middle of a task and he just stops and I can tell he's Instagramming in his mind. Mindstagramming."

Louis laughs, unsure if Niall's always like this or if it's just the blunt. It's probably Niall. After hearing him drop one-liners like "What if I do secretly have a vagina?", "I told my da I won't go back to prison" and "I'm not ready for another polygamous relationship", Louis will believe anything.

"We should hang out sometime," he offers. It sounds a bit final, but he guesses it is, since now he has to go look for Harry who's looking for him.

"Sure thing, over a pint. Hey, if you find my boy do send him back in one piece."

Louis smiles, and knicks a handful of crisps. "Sorted."

He winds down the floors, considers going back to his room in case Harry's there, but he's too afraid to face Liam right now. He ends up just wandering around for a bit, looks out for Spanish teenagers more than cameramen. It's a bit of a surprise when he does bump into Harry, somewhere between the dining room and the check-in desk. He's wearing no shirt and joggers that slip past his sharp hipbones and if Louis were sleepy before, he's Alert now.

There are at least twelve things he's meant to say, but all that comes out of his mouth is: "Why do you have a flannel sleeve wrapped around your head?"

"Why are you barefoot?"

Louis nods. "Fair enough."

Harry drifts closer to him, not-so-subtly eyeing his tattoos. Louis didn't intentionally go and look for him in a slaggy tank top and swim shorts, but he can still enjoy the check-out he gets. If he could focus for more than two seconds on anything other than Harry's shirtless situation. It's just. Since day one, Harry's been getting more tan and his hair has been getting taller for some reason. Louis has genuine concerns that by the time they get to the final challenge he'll leave The Amazing Race to win Britain's Next Top Model. Or Survivor, going by the ridiculous flannel.

When Louis realises they've been staring, he hurries to fill the silence. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Harry shrugs. "I was looking for you, actually."

Totally news. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, wondered if you had HobNobs. Niall wanted a cuppa."

"Really?" Louis asks, crossing his arms.

"Um, yeah." Harry actually looks nervous. He might be the worst liar on the planet. Yesterday they were in Cordova and there was a Spanish Inquisition Roadblock. Louis was the first to make the Monty Python reference, so he had to complete the task, which was sifting through jars full of disgusting things in hopes of finding a clue. Of course, he didn't know what the clue was, and he didn't know what was in the jars, so they wasted fifteen minutes on psyching him up to stick his hand in them. By that time more teams showed up at the freaky cellar place, including Harry and Niall, who was the one that did the Roadblock. Louis could hear Harry stumbling over encouragements like, "I bet it's puppies" and, "It can't be the worst thing you've put your hands in" and, "Honest, I saw Nick do it already and he came out fine", until Niall lost his temper for the first time since Louis' known him and snapped, "Nick and Greg took the second train from Madrid, he couldn't have made it here already, just shut up already Hazza," and proceeded to nearly hurl eighteen million chorizos. Louis glared at Liam for not making more of an effort to encourage him. Thank fuck Liam's a better liar than Harry. He got Louis to fondle some bugs and mice, and pull out the scrap of paper with their next clue.

Anyway, if Harry couldn't convince his best mate to go through an inquisition, he sure as hell won't convince Louis he was looking for biscuits. "I might have some in my room," he lies.

Harry's eyes light up, a bit in contrast with the dark smirk curling his lips. "Do you now?"

He wants to ask Harry back to his room, he really, really does, but they're on camera all the fucking time and he doesn't think Liam would appreciate it, anyway. Bros before blows and all that. "I could get them for you."

"Oh," Harry says, sounding every bit as disappointed as Louis felt. "At least stay for a cuppa."

That perks Louis up. "Yeah. There's a balcony up on the fourth floor, you bring the kettle and I'll bring the tea."

Harry smiles and does as he's told. He doesn't comment when Louis brandishes eight tea bags rather than two.

(Harry has an older sister and a cat with an unimaginative name and fifty thousand tattoos and a sweet earnestness to him even when he's being cheeky and this is the first time he's left England and he just wishes he could post some pictures on Instagram. Harry is a bit of a flop. Louis is uncontrollably fond of him. He's getting over it.)

They stay up way too late, and the weather's on the chilly side, but Harry sits very closely and laughs very loudly, and for the first time since leaving England, Louis doesn't want to rush.

**Praha**

Louis realises he's got it bad for Harry when he realises Harry is the devil. Or a golem, since this happens in Prague. He might also be a yeti, but that's undecided. He's a bit of a catastrophe.

Louis' Catastrophe happens on a perfect, sun-kissed afternoon at the Old Town Square, where a gaggle of Brits are sweating like horses, cursing like sailors and completely demolishing the chill spirit of Prague. Shit gets real in the race.

They have to guide a carriage tour around the Old Town without knowing jack shit about the Old Town. The first step is to lure people into their carriage. They manage to get five people, thanks to Liam's assertive charm and Louis' garbled Czech (he's taken to learning every language to at least communicate with cabbies, after pissing away two hours in Budapest due to miscommunication and Liam's illiteracy).

The first stop is the Prague Astronomical Clock, and Liam delightfully lets Louis take the reins on this one. Louis stares at the clue. He has five basic facts to go on: executions, King John of Luxembourg, 1338, Word War II and gold. What the fuck.

Louis rants for the first minute about their generations' complete reliance on Google to know anything about anything, and then comes up with the story of how King John found 1338 gold bars in the clock, gave all of them away in this very town square after it was bombed in the war, and then was executed by the Czech king for having an illicit affair with his son, the heir apparent. It's a good thing he's a natural entertainer (or a confident bullshitter, at least). His audience is more captivated than captive, Liam can't stop rolling his eyes, and he likes to think the people who'll be watching this at home will believe him.

The next stop is Prague Castle, and all Louis has is Bohemia, Thirty Years' War, Shakespeare, fire and the Guinness Book of Records.

The Catastrophe:

While Louis comes up with how Shakespeare won the Thirty Years' War by burning the Guinness Book of Records, he hears it. He hears singing. He hears a familiar voice singing. When he looks around, he spots Harry standing in a carriage close by and singing Bohemian Rhapsody. That's insane on its own, both because it's eight minutes long and because _what the fuck_.

It's also insane because Harry is fucking _good_. Like a proper singer or performer or anyone who shouldn't be busking around Prague for a million pounds. Louis' pretty sure this isn't just the Harry obsession talking, either. He used to be in a band himself, and worked at a karaoke pub during uni. Plus, Liam is listening to Harry too. Louis knows this because Liam isn't yelling at Louis for not finishing the tour and moving on.

Harry has a ridiculous fedora on and Niall is drumming along on the side of the carriage. His voice is low and raspy and steady and satanic. He's putting all he has into this performance – dancing awkwardly and hitting all the notes. He looks so happy, too, probably how Louis looked when he played footie at the Santiago Bernabéu stadium in Madrid. This must be Harry's favourite challenge. This might be Louis' favourite challenge, as of now.

"Did you know he could sing like that?" Liam asks quietly, like he's afraid he'll interrupt Harry during the ballad. Louis shakes his head. "D'you think he'll do the opera part too?" Louis shakes his head again.

Then he processes what Liam's just said, and his heart stops just when Harry sings, "I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish I'd never be born at all". He thinks anyone on the planet can hear the guitar solo in their heads, and Harry looks around at his unexpected audience for thirty seconds, but he doesn't drop the mic.

"Oh god, he's gonna do it," Liam whispers.

"Shit," Louis agrees.

"But he needs the multi – "

" _I see a little silhouetto of a man_."

Before Louis knows what's happening, he's raising his own mic and singing, "Scaramouch, scaramouch, will you do the fandango?"

Harry stops short for two seconds, apparently just noticing Louis and Liam are there, and then he beams. "Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me."

It's sort of hysterical when they do the Galileo bit and everyone's eyes flit from Louis to Harry, like it's a tennis match. Louis hops on the seats of the carriage and waves his arms theatrically, to really get into it while singing, "Bismillah, we will not let you go!"

When Liam shouts the "Let him go!" parts, it's simply beautiful.

All three of them do "Beelzebab has a devil put aside for me," but by the third repetition only Liam can hold the high note, since Louis and Harry have broken character and can't stop laughing. Thank fuck, the opera part ends, but it turns out Niall has been lying in wait.

He plants a leg on the side of his carriage and solos the fuck out of an air guitar. The stunned people around both carriages drop their phones to _sing_  a guitar riff, and then Harry just fucking goes for the hard rock part. Like, his dad dance-flail thing becomes an inappropriately sexy crouch, and he closes his eyes and pours his heart out into the mic. By the finale Louis' heart breaks, and he can't help chiming in for the last, "Anyway the wind blows."

They clap. The people on Harry's carriage clap. The people on Louis' carriage clap. The people who have gathered around the square and filmed all of this on their phones clap. Louis does an exaggerated bow when Harry tips his hat to him. They're both smiling like knobs when Niall taps on Harry's shoulder, making him say, "Right, so basically, then there was a fire Shakespeare wrote a play about and, uh, it all went on the Guinness Book of Records."

"Legit," Niall adds unnecessarily.

They don't see each other for the next couple of days, but Louis keeps hearing Harry's singing voice in his head. He realises he's basically fucked.


	2. South America

**Atlantic Ocean**

 

On the flight from Paris to Rio, Louis doesn't actually pounce on Harry. It's just that Liam insists on them sitting on the emergency exit row so he could help everyone if the plane went down, and then Harry casually sits next to him. Louis looks from Harry to Liam and back again, shocked, and then notices Niall sitting a few rows behind them, next to Josh.

"You two break up?" he asks Harry, sitting straighter unconsciously.

"More leg room. And Niall wouldn't sacrifice his precious window seat to sit next to me. Never mind the fact that as soon as we take off he'll pop a sleeping pill and be out like a light. Not that I care, he's not much of a cuddler." To be honest, Louis stopped listening after the first three words, because Harry stretched his ridiculous chicken legs out. Louis knows that if he does the same he wouldn't even reach Harry's ankles. He also desperately wants to wrap Harry's long legs around his waist and fuck him for the eleven-hour flight.

Arousal hits him like the Sainsbury's lorry that crashed right outside of his flat once, and Louis has to stare at the safety video and talk to Liam about the one Air New Zealand did before the Hobbit came out. He just needs to get past three weeks of sexual frustration and fit, long guys sitting next to him for eleven hours. It can't be that hard. He went through worse dry spells during finals.

Right. Thinking about car crashes and his middle-aged professors does the trick. He looks at Harry again, then realises he's just drifted off while Harry was speaking. "Sorry, I, uh, get nervous during flights," he lies quickly.

Harry looks a bit less put-off, at that. "Oh. Wanna hold my hand?"

He puts it palm-up on the armrest between them. It's expectedly and offensively large. "I would, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to find my hand afterwards."

"It's happened before."

Louis snorts. "You lose a lot of things in your monstrous hands?"

Harry's definitely smirking. "Yeah. It's really a burden. Lost my Oyster card in 2010 and still haven't found it. Holding jewellery is risky, too."

"You're ridiculous."

"Just hold my fucking hand, I won't crush it."

"Fine, Jesus." Louis puts his hand in Harry's. Harry makes a show of wrapping his fingers carefully and one at a time around Louis' palm, which is, of course, tiny in comparison.

"Your hands are a bit dainty," Harry comments.

"Fuck you," Louis snaps back, but. It's too warm and unnecessary and a bit weird, but they're still holding hands and Harry looks extremely pleased with himself. Louis tries his hardest not to smile.

When takeoff starts Louis notices a change in Harry's expression. Not that he was staring – but if he were, it turned out to be a good thing, since he spotted Harry's easy smile slipping. Harry tightens his grip on Louis' hand, but it doesn't hurt that much so Louis doesn't comment on it. It all points to something, though. "Mate, are you scared?"

He hadn't noticed how tight Harry's jaw was until he relaxed it to speak. "You know how many times we could crash in eleven hours?"

Nearly the entire row twists to glare at Harry, and Louis glares back for him and wiggles his hand until their fingers are laced together. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. We'll take off and it'll be alright. You can crush my dainty hand all you want, too."

Harry cracks a reluctant smile and squeezes Louis' hand. "You know how many flights I've been on?" Louis babbles. "It's really safe. Unless you're with Liam, he might look like the nice one but he's really not. It's a good thing I can talk to you now, if I only had him I'm sure he would've spent eleven hours whining about losing eleven hours in the race. He probably won't even wait for our luggage, just run off the second the wheels touch the runway." He keeps encouraging him until the plane's rattling gets too loud and Harry gets too pale, and then something possesses him to lift their linked hands to his mouth and kiss Harry's knuckles.

Harry looks down at Louis in surprise, which is better than looking out the window in horror. Louis tries to cover the weirdness of the situation with more weirdness, so he licks along the back of Harry's hand like a cat, and Harry laughs uproariously until they're airborne.

By the time the seatbelt sign is off Harry is his usual cheerful self, and Louis managed to pry their hands apart so he could lift the armrest and get a bit more comfortable at Harry's expense. He might elbow him in the ribs, but as soon as Harry opens his mouth to complain Louis lifts his hand and Harry falls silent.

"So. Eleven hours," Harry says. He's stretching his legs again. Louis thinks they're in a good place in their relationship, enough so that he can put a casual hand on Harry's causal thigh casually. He's not sure why he's trying to torture himself, but this is a chance to touch Harry's skinny leg and he'll damn well take it.

"Yeah. What are we gonna do for eleven hours?" he asks. He might be teasing. He's still touching Harry's leg casually.

"Well, I have a card deck. And some crosswords," he says, looking dead serious.

"You realise there's a perfectly good in-flight entertainment system with a hundred movies and telly shows?"

Harry's eyes widen. Louis suddenly remembers Harry's never been on a plane before, other than the two-hour flight from England to Italy at the start of the race. His mild panic attack suddenly makes more sense. He pulls out Harry's remote and plants headphones in his hand. "Wanna watch a movie together?"

"Sure, yeah." Harry's already fiddling with the little screen, smiling excitedly. Louis' just – fine, he's staring, because Harry's an open book.

He ends up putting a Pixar film on both their systems. It's not really how they should be watching a movie together, since they both have earphones in, but Harry taps on Louis' leg when something exciting happens and Louis clutches his forearm when he laughs, and he might be leaning on him by the end of the movie but Harry doesn't shrug him off. It sort of makes up for not being able to deliver snarky commentary.

The next movie he chooses is longer, and he can feel himself nodding off on Harry's arm but he doesn't really care. When he wakes up a few hours later his neck is absolutely killing him, but Harry's wrapped both a blanket and an arm around him, so he stays still. When he peeks up he sees that Harry's slumped back, fast asleep with his mouth hanging open.

Slowly, quietly and carefully, he shifts until his legs are tucked over Harry's lap and his head's on Liam's solid shoulder. He'll get an earful when Liam wakes up. Probably not from Harry, though. Harry's probably a cuddler. With really fantastic legs. Louis sighs, and hopes he wakes up before the cameraman.

 

**Brasil**

   


Louis had his Harry-breakdown in Prague. Harry has his Louis-breakdown in Rio.  
  
Louis loves Brazil. He can't stop raving about it to Caroline, from the second they get off the plane and it's so hot he can feel the Parisian cold thawing, until the last interview they do before leaving South America. "This is gonna be a good leg," he tells Liam in the cab, maybe trying to convince him. They had a nasty fight at Pont de l'Archevêché, and Louis feels like they need to regroup.

Liam brightens right up when they find their first task is at Copacabana beach. "Maybe we could surf," Louis says.

"Or play footie at the Maracana stadium," Liam offers, like a truce.

(They sort of do, even. Louis has to glide off a cliff while Liam waits on a board by a buoy in rough seas for thirty minutes. Louis gets to play footie against some mini-Pelés in a favela. So there's that.)

The first thing they need to do in Rio, very fittingly, is samba non-stop to the beach. They get to do it hanging off a professional dancer, who's embarrassingly taller than Louis by two heads and is wearing a sequined golden bikini.

Louis is definitely enjoying this more than Liam. "Just let go!" he encourages for the fourth time. "Shake it like a Polaroid picture!"

He's in a tank top. He's getting a tan. He's on his way to a beach. He's moving his bones after eleven hours in a flying box. Louis hates a lot of things, but he loves Brazil. Liam looks at him with very serious eyebrows and an unimpressed pout while Louis is shaking his arse and making the dancer laugh.

He feels a bit bad for his partner, so he tries to keep the dancer from making Liam samba by getting her to teach him Portuguese. Okay, no, he's trying to distract her from how the cameraman is straining to get shots of her arse. It's true that Brazil is the land of bums, but Louis thinks it's a bit rude.

When they reach Copacabana they read that the clue is somewhere on the beach. That's stretching for four and a half kilometres. Slightly discouraged, and flushed from sambaing in the sweltering heat, he drags a frustrated Liam as close to the water as possible. He doesn't know how long they've been travelling until he finally spots the flags.

"No way," Liam says. Louis would respond if he weren't doubled over laughing.

It's a bum-toning class. An actual, legitimate Brazilian bum-sculpting workout, with an actual, legitimate hot Brazilian bum instructor. Ten yoga mats are spread in front of the instructor, Brazilian girls currently occupying five of them in different pretzel-shaped exercises. Liam is infinitely perkier. Louis can already see Stan, sitting at home, hand probably shoved in his pants, feeling vindicated for the years and years of insulting Louis' generous arse.

While Liam actually reads the task they're meant to complete, Louis flings himself at the mat directly in front of the instructor. He spews the bit of Portuguese he's learned from their dancer. Rafael, the dashing instructor, smiles at him, and Louis squats with the girls.

Liam tries to inconspicuously pick a mat at the back row, fooling absolutely no one. Since he works out like a maniac, this will basically be a breezy half hour of staring at Brazilian arses for him. Louis pointedly sticks his bum in his face, making Liam curse and move a mat over, so the one directly behind Louis is unoccupied.

The Catastrophe:

Louis hears Harry and Niall before he sees them. This is both because Niall is speaking loudly ("It's not cheating if she was so impressed by my samba she helped us find the flag. It's not like we would have found it ourselves in a million years, we're a bit shit at finding things other than this fucking amazing caramelised popcorn thing – why'd you stop?"), and because Louis is on all fours with a leg sticking up in the air and his head hanging low.

"Well, shit," Liam says, probably knows the only thing going through Louis' head is _my moment has come._

Louis hates working out, but he loves his generous arse. He especially loves it when Niall plants Harry Styles in the mat directly behind him, and Harry actually sputters for about five minutes. Louis' a tease. He dances like a bit of a slag and likes to practice his hip-thrusts at inappropriate moments, like a visit at the Aquarium or a queue at Tesco. It's mostly to embarrass Liam. Unless he's at a club and he's trying to pull. Either way, it's usually effective.

When Rafael the bum instructor tells them to get on their feet for more squats, Louis looks back at Harry. Who is staring at his arse and actually biting his lip. Brazil is delightful. "Glad you could make it," he says, making Harry tear his eyes from Louis' arse and then blush bright red.

"Yeah. I'm a bit useless at samba. And Pilates, apparently," he says, voice gravelly as ever. Right on cue, Rafael shouts at Harry to spread his legs more and clench his abs. Harry does. He's a bit sweaty and breathing hard and impossibly gangly and distracting. _Uselessly attractive._

Louis puts a bit more effort into his bum workout from that point on. Whenever he thinks he might be too obnoxious, all he has to do is glance back and see Harry flushed and transfixed to know that he must be doing something right. He can vaguely hear Liam chatting a girl up and Niall grunting from exertion, but it's mostly his blood roaring in his ears and feeling Harry's eyes on him.

So it backfires a bit. Teasing Harry gives him a whiplash of sexual frustration, and he can only pray the next task will involve jumping into the ocean. He tries to focus on Rafael counting and gets a bit of his rhythm back, doesn't notice his hips moving accordingly until he feels Harry's hand flopping over his ankle. Because Harry collapsed mid-exercise.

Louis wishes it was another sing-along that-isn't-really-supposed-to-be-a-sing-along task. He'd start with Bootylicious, then remix it with Baby Got Back and Ass Like That. (Or anything Eminem or Pitbull, really, he thinks they're big on bums. Liam _has_ taught him something.)

Harry rights himself before Rafael snaps, but his hand remains on Louis' ankle. Louis' focus is shot straight to hell again, feeling connected to Harry through his enormous, sweaty hand, clamped tight on his skin. _Fuck me_ , he thinks, realising a second too late it actually came out of his mouth. He quickly tacks on, "How much longer do we have, Liam? My thighs are killing me."

"Serves you right for blowing me off every time I offer to work out with you," Liam replies smartly. "I think you should do the full hour."

"Yes," Harry whispers, so quiet Louis would have thought he imagined it if it weren't for Harry's fingers rubbing his ankle bone. Louis clenches his hands on the mat and needs to either free his ankle or ride Harry. There are probably more options, but they're all derivative of Harry groping his arse and giving him a real workout, so Louis doesn't think too long about it. His skin already feels too tight.

He thinks about the twentieth middle-aged professor when Rafael finally gives Liam the envelope. He can only spare a second to sear into his brain the dark look Harry's giving him before they're rushing off the beach. He thinks the only thing that could distract him from matters of the dick is jumping off a cliff. Coincidentally, that's his next task.

By the end of the day he still loves Brazil. Even with Jesus staring him down wherever he went, even after running around a favela (and falling in adoration with Liam all over again, when at one point he turned around and found Liam lagging behind and dismissing the time constraints in favour of playing with a group of smiling kids).

The race is insane. The amount of things they do in a day is staggering, as is the physical and emotional strain. Louis' learned to take it one task at a time, because if he lets it all build up he just snaps at Liam and it's Paris all over again. They break it down after each task, to leave the bad stuff behind and grow from it. Louis doesn't know if they're in first place, but he feels like their system is working. He just loves Liam, really. "You're my rock, mate," he says when they're dragging their feet to the hotel after another 72-hour day.

"Cheers," Liam says, a bit awkward when checking them in.

"Really. I'm so glad we're doing this together," he presses when he notices their room is dominated by one king size bed. He also lets Liam shower first. He doesn't have an ulterior motive.

Until the moment he says, "We're cool, yeah?"

And Liam says, "Of course."

So Louis says, "And if I waited downstairs for Harry?"

Liam considers. "Just take the key card."

Louis gives him a wet kiss to the forehead and grabs the key card before skipping away. He knows they will have a talk about whatever this is, he owes Liam that much, but he'd like to have a bit more "whatever" before.

He's been through a lot today, but forgetting the arse class just didn't happen. He has no idea what he's doing with Harry, but he waits. Maybe Harry knows. Maybe his only other option is to wank furiously, like he did after he watched Harry play underwear model on a Paris catwalk and actually got a semi on camera.

When he hears the slide doors open he looks up from his Portuguese dictionary to see Harry and Niall shuffling in, sans their production crew. "A shag, yeah?" Harry's saying, apparently in response to something Niall has said. Louis has to bite the inside of his cheek.

"You know I'll help, mate," Niall reassures him, skidding to a stop in front of Louis. Louis' stomach is in knots when Harry grins at him and leans down to whisper something in Niall's ear. Niall nods and pats his back, adjusts his shades because it might be night-time but Niall gives no fucks.

Harry rushes to Louis' side, still smiling. "Hi." He has no right to sound breathless.

"Hi there."

They're hovering. Harry, bless him, breaks the ice. "That's smart," he says, pointing at Louis' dictionary.

"Yeah, just something I do in my spare time."

Harry bursts out laughing. "Right, spare time. Niall knows the languages, out of us. I know the random trivia."

"Does that come in handy?"

He's grinning again. "Beat you to the Picasso thing, didn't we?"

Louis wants to look away. Louis cannot. "I let you beat me."

Harry clears his throat and shakes out his hair. Louis firmly believes if he does that vigorously enough, small change and kittens will start flying out of it. He's about to say just that when Niall yells, "Haz! It's 305!"

"Cheers," Harry says back, probably knowing Niall won't hear him but still not bothering to yell. Come to think of it, other than their random performance, Louis' never heard Harry speak in anything but a lazy drawl. It's completely foreign and maybe a bit soothing to a manic person like Louis. "D'you wanna have another cuppa with me?" Harry asks eventually, a bit shy.

"Yes. Yeah." Louis used to be so much smoother than this, what is happening. He keeps catching himself staring at Harry's hands.

Harry cracks his knuckles casually. Wanker. He carries both his and Niall's bags and starts walking in the wrong direction, making Louis finally snap out of it. He rushes forward and steers Harry towards the lifts. "Seriously, you're hopeless."

Harry just laughs. "Hey, I would've figured it out. Maybe I wanted to explore a bit."

The lift is small as it is, so with all the bags, Louis and Harry barely squeeze in. It's completely distracting, having to stare up at Harry, watch his biceps bulge when he tightens the straps of the bags he's carrying. He just wants to kiss him, is that so wrong?

"You're not exploring anything until you shower," Louis says quietly, wrinkling his nose. The look Harry shoots him is even more pronounced by him crowding Louis against the lift wall. Since Harry's hands are tangled in the straps, Louis takes it upon himself to drag his hands over Harry's hips, inching them closer.

"Really?" Harry asks. He's looking at Louis like he might just never stop. There's sand in his hair and he smells like he spent an afternoon in a favela, but Louis is frighteningly close to saying "not really", because he's frighteningly close to fucking him anyway. But he won't, he – he thinks they should probably avoid major milestones while competing for a million quid on national telly.

The lift doors open, and Louis all but shoves Harry out. He needs to think.

"Niall?" he ends up asking.

"Can entertain himself for a bit," Harry replies, maybe expecting it, maybe planning for it. This is happening. "C'mon, I shower fast," he says and takes Louis' hand while fumbling with the key card Niall's casually left by the door. Louis squeezes his hand a bit, just to see him drop the key card again.

When he finally opens the door, he stumbles in and gasps. "There's just one bed. It's huge."

Louis follows him inside and turns on the lights just in time to see Harry dropping the bags and curving his back until Louis can hear a series of alarming pops. Not that he cares – Harry's shoulder blades are rippling under his thin t-shirt and he's just so broad and long and Louis has no idea how he found this boy.

"So I need you to turn around," Louis says. Harry freezes in the middle of another stretch. He turns around slowly, and just watches Louis for a moment. That's when Louis hurls himself at him. Harry, being perfect, catches him like he's a sack of potatoes and just tightens his arms around Louis' waist.

He's breathing hard into Harry's neck, locks his legs tight. "Been waiting for that," he mutters.

Louis can feel his huge hands at his back and his broad chest at his front and he doesn't mind feeling small if it means feeling this secure. He nuzzles a bit at Harry's chin, his cheekbones, probably scratches him with his stubble. "Is there something  _you_ 've been meaning to do?" he asks.

Harry hums, sound deep and drawn-out and a bit desperate. "Lou," he whispers. "I spent the better part of half an hour with your arse in my face. I'd rather like to touch it."

Sounds reasonable. "Good," Louis agrees. He lets go at once, then his breath stutters when Harry's still holding him up, is keeping him from falling, until Harry gets the hint and lets him down. "Go shower. Then grope away. And make out."

So Harry does, and they do. Louis comes to the conclusion that after full-body tackling Harry he doesn't smell that good himself, so he takes off his shirt, and Harry just strolls out of the shower in black briefs. Louis doesn't have to jump him again because Harry's pinning him to the bed in five seconds, and then flips them over so Louis' lying on top of him.

All the action draws some wiggling that make Louis positive Harry's been hard since he came out of the shower, and that Harry's fit as fuck. His only option is to finally kiss his full lips, and Harry moans a little, like he wasn't expecting it. Louis' a bit devastated when he does it again, and again, just kisses him until his lips are more red than pink and he's too uncoordinated because Harry keeps pushing his hips up. "Thought you had something you wanted to do," he mutters, suddenly very conscious of how affected his voice sounds.

"I think I can hear violins. Fat baby angels are singing Disney songs," Harry says, because Harry is awful.

Louis shimmies a bit. "You know, that's what the bum instructor said."

Harry's hands finally come down on Louis arse, a bit harder than either of them expected, making Louis roll into Harry's hips. Louis' been fondled before, that's for sure, but Harry gets all – concentrated and his hands are massive and he looks like he's actually having a revelation of some sort. Louis has to kiss that expression away, until Harry just squeezes his arse like a normal person.

Louis made a mental note not to fuck him, but snogging naturally turns to rutting against Harry's bony hip, the rhythm mostly dictated by Harry's firm hold of him, and if they happen to come in their pants it's mostly so they won't die of want. So. Louis mostly keeps his shit together. Even when Harry peels off his sticky boxers and Louis accidentally blows him.

Maybe he should have read the rules.

(There must be something in the rules against this, but when Louis asks him about it, Liam doesn't say there is. Liam's surprisingly cool about it, in fact. Like with everything else in the race, and their lives, Liam takes it very seriously and responsibly and makes plans, but he never tells Louis he's mental for wanting it. "People have met under stranger circumstances," he says, shrugging. "Go for it. But if you have less than six hours of sleep I will kick your arse, Tommo." Louis loves him aggressively.)

**Montevideo**

Uruguay is a breaking point. It doesn't seem like it, until they reach the coast and have a torturous sailing challenge. Basically, Louis has to sail through a path while Liam is _trussed up to the prow of the boat like a fucking mermaid figurehead_ and has to count the tiny flags along the trail. Louis can sail around for as many times as they need until Liam is sure how many flags there are. If he gets it wrong, they get a penalty, and have to wait for another team to reach the port. Because, of course, this is one of the tasks where they're in direct competition with another team.

There are a number of reasons for why they break down. First of all, the task is fucking hard. For all that Liam is occasionally Batman, nobody enjoys hanging off a boat while being constantly sprayed by freezing water and actually trying to maintain cognitive function. Secondly, Louis hasn't seen Harry in two Pit Stops, which also means two more teams have been sent home, which also means they're down to six and the pressure is on and everything is insane.

So Liam's even more stressed about their place in the race, and he's rash, and only lets Louis do one lap before he signals that he's counted all the flags. "Are you sure?" he shouts over the wind and the waves and the motor, uselessly. Liam just keeps giving him thumbs up. He sees Lou going for a second lap, but he trusts Liam. If they get this right, Lou and Tom get the penalty.

Only, they don't. The Uruguayan sailor takes his sweet time to shake his head, and Louis thinks he can hear Liam's stomach drop. For a second, pure despair blinds him. He can't even think about going back behind the wheel, he's pretty sure they just lost first place, and he's just so bloody tired lately. The second passes, and one look at Liam makes the urge to bitch dissipate.

Liam looks right miserable, bruised from the safety harnesses and sputtering seawater and his eyes are reddened and he actually got something wrong. "Li," he says, grabbing Liam's arm and pulling him back to the dock. "Liam, it's okay."

Liam's rubbing his hand over his face. "I fucked up."

"Mate, anyone could have gotten that wrong. You were dangling from a fucking boat, that's insane."

They're both shaking from the cold. Liam's soaking wet, and Louis has to force him to sit down. The cameraman is keeping a respectful distance, but Louis knows he can hear every word. Louis has no idea how they're going to get back on the boat.

"We're wasting time, we don't have time for this. We're so close, Tommo."

It's so jarring to see Liam give up. Louis just says whatever he can think of. "I know, but we're a good team, okay, we're probably only second place right now. I haven't seen the sisters in a week, you can bet we're not last place."

He's got Liam in a half-hug when they hear their competing team blunder to the dock. Liam seems to regroup at that – it must have taken less time than he was expecting, or he just managed to motivate himself to get this over with while they're still ahead. It has the opposite effect on Louis, though. Knowing the wait's over and he has to set sail again makes him feel tetchy. He's exhausted.

"Lou?"

Louis almost can't believe it. He looks up and Harry's looking back at him, frowning in concern and flipping his hair furiously. "Haz." Louis reaches up automatically.

Instead of taking his hand, Harry crouches down and envelopes him in a massive hug, out of nowhere, nearly making him topple over. He swears, but Harry only holds him tighter. It's been two Pit Stops and about a week since they spent the night together, and Louis almost forgot how broad Harry was, how he hugs like he's trying to fit a puzzle piece. "What happened, love?" Harry asks in his ear.

He didn't know how close he was to crying until this second. It just crashes over him all at once, the stress and exhaustion and homesickness and keeping it together for Liam, how crushing it will be to lose so late in the game. He never imagined he'd be in this place. "I'm so tired," he mutters back, praying Liam has stepped away, that his voice is muffled by the crook of Harry's neck.

Harry rubs his back a few times. "I know," he says, and it strikes Louis that he absolutely does. He's one of the eleven people that know how impossibly hard this is. "You're doing so well." He can almost believe that too.

"We have to do it again. We already did it. Liam was turning blue, fuck." He squeezes his eyes shut. He hasn't freaked out like this since Paris, and it feels cathartic in a way, as long as Harry stays with him.

"So you do it again." He whispers it so slowly, in that Harry way of his, and it calms Louis like he's cast a spell on him. "He had a bull ram into him twice. You nearly froze your bollocks off at that bridge in Paris for _hours_ while looking for one lock out of seven billion. It's nothing you can't handle, innit?"

He nods into Harry's shoulder, and gives himself another minute to stop shuddering. He needs to stop losing it. He found that lock. Liam fought that bull. He glided across Rio and swam across the freezing Danube and got a Brazilian wax and got here first. _I'm so glad you're here_ , he wants to say, but figures it'll be counterproductive to the whole empowerment thing he's feeling. "I'm just trying to psyche you out, you know. It's not that hard."

Harry chortles, and finally lets Louis go. He even shoves him a bit for good measure. "It's working, I'm scared shitless now."

He's still close enough to touch, so Louis runs a hand through his curly fringe and smiles when Harry closes his eyes. "Are you the driver or the figurehead?"

Harry moves back again to strike a pose. "The figurehead, duh."

Louis' heart sinks. "Really?"

Harry doesn't seem to notice his concern. "Yeah. Look what we did on the way." He pulls two seashells out of nowhere, and puts them on his nipples like the fucking Little Idiot Mermaid.

He looks so proud of himself that Louis, for the first time ever, doesn't want to tell him how absurd he is. "You know you're gonna be in a wetsuit."

"Well, we only knew that once we saw Liam. Was kinda hoping you'd be in one, though."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Really now? Is this about my bum again?"

Harry nods, a certain glint in his eyes. "I saw you in Budapest. Nearly drowned."

"Fuck's sake." Thoroughly distracted, Louis finally gets up, mostly to stop himself from tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and kissing him on telly. "C'mon. I think someone's trying to get your attention."

Harry gets up as well and turns around to see Niall draped over the rails of the deck with his arms spread wide, screaming, "Wey hey king of the world! I'm the motherfucking ship captain!"

The most amazing part is that Liam's looking up from the dock and laughing wildly. While Harry shuffles off to learn how to sail a boat, Louis wraps an arm around Liam's shoulders. "Ready, mate?"

"Think so," Liam says, still smiling. "Why do you always get all the cuddles? I'm cold too."

He's teasing, Louis knows him too well to believe he needs a hug. What he needs is a good punch to the shoulder and a shove towards the bow of the ship.

It goes to shit from the second the ship rattles into motion. He does two laps this time, keeps the pace steady like he knows what he's doing, but Liam doesn't give him the signal. They're reaching the starting point again and Louis lets go of the wheel to look over at Liam. He freezes at the sight of him. Liam's arms are locked at his sides in pain and every patch of skin Louis can see from here looks red and raw, lashed by the waves and wind.

He doesn't even have to make a decision. Liam doesn't give him the signal, but Louis can't physically watch him go through another lap. He just turns the boat around. It could be a mistake, but he's willing to take that chance.

As it happens, they rush to the sailor just as Harry and Niall do. Louis is terrified. Liam is furious at him, and if Harry got it right, they'll have to do this for a third time. Louis can't stand the smell of the ocean.

It's the strangest thing. The sailor asks Harry how many flags there were, and Harry glances at Louis, and Louis suddenly knows that Harry won't get it right.

And he doesn't. And this time, Liam does. And while Niall curses and Liam grabs their bags, Louis swears he sees a tiny smile grace Harry's lips.

By some miracle he manages not to kiss him, but he does tangle their fingers for a precious moment before he runs to tackle Liam and catch a cab to their next task. He tries not to wonder if Harry blew it on purpose. He's pretty sure he won't recover.

It's sort of affirmed for him that night, when they crawl into the hotel and the only thing keeping him from crashing to bed is the check-in clerk repeating, "Telephone, telephone", and waving at Louis.

As reluctant as he is to leave Liam after the day they've had, he tells him to go to bed and picks up.

"Yeah, hello? It's Zayn. Uh, Malik."

"What the fuck," Louis replies without thinking. If he were less exhausted, he's sure his brain would supply a dozen worst-case scenarios. As it is, he can barely remind himself to inhale and exhale. "I mean, hey mate."

"Hey. I know you had a long day, but can you talk for a sec?"

Louis' still stuck on _what the fuck_. "Of course, is something wrong?"

"Well, like, sort of. I'm really sorry to do this, anyway, but I genuinely like you and Liam, and once I heard, I didn't want some management guy calling you, you know?"

Even being this tired doesn't stop the panic from creeping up. "Heard what? Call me about what?"

"Harry."

Well, shit. "We didn't – I mean, we're being careful. Wait, did he – at the boat task, did he really?"

Zayn sighs. "We don't know if he threw the game. He didn't tell Niall or the cameraman before he told the sailor the number of flags. Like, I think that's the one thing keeping him from disqualification right now."

"Oh my god, no, it was my fault, he's just trying to be nice, he's a nice lad." His brain just went from naught to sixty. "You can't disqualify them because of me."

"But you realise – I mean, you see why it can't happen. Why _you_ shouldn't happen right now. It's not a gay thing," he clarifies, making Louis blink. Of course it occurred to him, it's always a gay thing with him, but hearing Zayn just say it is weird. "If there's the chance either of you will throw a task or help each other out, it's just unfair to other teams, innit? There's a reason." To his credit, it actually sounds like it pains him to tell Louis this. Doesn't make it any more pleasant to hear.

"Yeah, look, I understand. I'll back off, okay? We'll back off, I promise." He really wants to add _if you let them disqualify him I don't know what I'll do_ , but the small part of his brain that's still working is implying that Zayn is just the pretty face, not the one pulling the strings. "Thanks for, you know, telling me yourself."

"Of course, mate. Did you know he asks about you in each Pit Stop?"

Louis sort of perishes all over the clerk's desk. "He does?"

"Yeah. I always tell him which place you came in."

"You're not really supposed to do that, are you?" Louis asks.

"Not really. Good thing I don't have thirty telly cams filming me all the time."

His heart stops jackrabbiting long enough for him to laugh. Zayn Malik isn't ridiculous at all. Zayn Malik is a saint. "Will you call to tell Harry, too?" he asks hopefully.

"Don't worry, I'll break it to him gently," Zayn assures him.

"Thank you. Honestly."

His eyes are starting to droop. He guesses he should probably try to fall asleep before his promise sinks in. This is not something he wants to discuss with Liam.

The next day he wakes up to Liam tapping his shoulder, as per usual, and saying, "You got something", which is new. Louis groans and curses and groans again, before opening his eyes.

It takes his brain five minutes to unscramble, and by then Liam's already in the bathroom. "Morning," he croaks.

Liam mumbles something, probably brushing his teeth. Louis rubs his eyes. "You okay today?"

He hears Liam spit out, and then say, "A bit bruised, but I'll live. Did you hear me before? There was something for you under the door."

Louis starts popping his shoulders when he spots a piece of paper on his chest. It's got the hotel's letterhead, but the writing isn't printed. It's a letter, scrawled out to him late at night by an exhausted boy he's not supposed to talk to anymore.

 _So Zayn Malik called me, which isn't something I'd ever thought I'd say. I guess he talked to you too. It's all very highschool, isn't it?_ ~~Or Shakespeare. Not that we're starcrossed but~~   ~~do you wanna be my~~  
 _Anyway I got his point, so I'll stop ~~finding~~ seeking you out for a bit, but it's a bit unfair that I didn't get to see you for a week ~~after we~~ and now I can't see you at all. Basically I'm just a bit worried about the way I found you at that dock, so I hope you got over it. ~~I believe~~ Look how well you did in the end! :)_  
 _So this is rather pointless and I'm absolutely knackered and should turn off the light, but I didn't wanna just leave it like that._  
 _PS tell Liam I didn't cheat!!_  
 _PPS me and Niall came in fifth so it wouldn't have mattered if I had_  
 _PPPS not saying I did_  
 _~~PPPPS but maybe I~~_

_It'll be hard to stay away._  
 _H .xx_

Louis spends precious time straightening the letter out, since everything before the second to last line has been written over and crumpled a bit. It's that line that resounds in Louis' head, though. Louis folds the paper neatly, sticks it in his Spanish dictionary, and then stuffs his head in the pillow and swears because Harry is unreasonably sweet and unbearably right. They've grown incredibly attached, and it's not going away, and it'll be hard to stay away.


	3. Asia

**東京**

 

   


They're in Shibuya and Louis is seething at a toilet door. "Liam Payne, I swear to god I will bust my way in there."

"Will you stop shouting my name?" Liam replies, sounding distressed.

"Embarrassing you has worked as a motivator for ten years."

"Can you wait outside please?"

Louis huffs. It feels like he's been in a full traditional samurai costume since the Edo period itself. The fact Liam's unreasonably suspicious of these Japanese toilets shouldn't mean Louis will have to wait for him. They still have yet to figure out the tube system here, and mentally prepare for probably climbing the Fuji tomorrow. They're down to five teams; there's absolutely no time to waste. Certainly not by ignoring Louis and pressing all the buttons on all the toilets.

Louis plans to duck out and buy some face masks to freak Liam out when he comes out. Only then, Harry stumbles into the toilet. Harry and Niall got held back at the fishing challenge and had to take the later train to Tokyo. Louis hadn't seen them. Well, he didn't talk to Harry since they left Uruguay, terrified of what Zayn had said and keeping the letter close to him. Looking at him now, a week later, Louis feels a bit of a whiplash.

Harry must have been the one in the samurai costume. For whatever reason he's still wearing the metal skirt, but he's taken his shirt off and he's using it to wipe his face and he's insanely fit. Louis looks a right mess himself, hair going any which way and sweat clinging to his skin. Standing next to Harry really isn't helping. It's just – his snapback is pushing his curls down and his tattoos are still ridiculous and he looks like he's after a good workout or a slow fuck and it's all very boyish and charming and cruel of him.

Louis' stomach flutters when he remembers that their production crew hadn't come in with them, instead staying outside and trying to figure out the vending machines. He didn't think their reunion would be in a toilet, but what can you do. He walks right up to Harry, completely forgetting about harassing Liam.

"Hey," Harry says when he sees him, bright bright grin bellying his passive tone.

"Hi, stranger," Louis replies. He sort of didn't stop walking, so now he's close enough to Harry that he has to look up to watch his face, can smell the sweat and sea on him. He brushes over Harry's samurai gear, simply fascinated. Harry drifts closer and flutters his hand over the stubble Louis' been sporting since Uruguay. It feels reassuring to just touch each other like this.

"Yeah, last I saw you was up at Okinawa," Harry says.

Louis tries not to tilt his head into Harry's palm. He is not a cat. Cats don't win amazing races. "I'm glad you caught up. Where's Nialler?"

Harry shrugs. It looks like the longest movement in the world, what with Louis staring at his chest. "Dunno. Think he's still trying to chat up our cabbie."

 _Of course._ "You would find the one attractive, English-speaking young cabbie in Tokyo."

He smiles devastatingly again. "We're just lucky."

"So not witchcraft?"

"Are you mental?" he asks, actually keeping an air of superiority before adding, "I can't use magic outside of Hogwarts."

Louis makes a noise and trails his fingers over Harry's abs. "You might actually out-dork Liam."

Harry hums. "Is it weird I'm cheering you and Liam on?"

"Not really mate, everyone and their mother is rooting for you two."

"Not the ones U-Turning us."

"What?" Louis is suddenly filled with rage toward the general population. A U-Turn means people voted for you to finish a Detour task of your choosing, and then double back and complete the Detour task you didn't choose, wasting time and effort and faith in humanity. Alright, it's a competition, but who would want to fuck _Harry and Niall_ over? Even after all they've accomplished, they've both still got something of a lost baby animal about them.

Harry looks highly amused by Louis taking offence for him. "It's okay. I'm not here to make friends."

"I'm here to become America's next top model," he finishes automatically, catching Harry's smirk. His eyes are so bright and his smile is so easy, charm coming off him in waves, and this is unbearable. "Which teams picked you? They need to be crushed."

Harry snorts. "I appreciate it, but I'm pretty sure helping each other out got us in this mess."

"Mess?"

"Me not kissing your face off right now."

Louis' murderous rage is slightly toned down. "You really shouldn't have said kissing."

"Why?" Harry asks, confused, and then five seconds (too many) later Louis' kissing him. Harry immediately covers the back of Louis' neck with his massive hand, and Louis' samurai armour jangles when he presses up against him, sort of clinging.

It's brief, like they're just getting a fix, because anyone could enter and pushing Harry into a stall, though very tempting, will mean he won't be able to stop. That's not an option in the race. He reluctantly takes a step back, swats at Harry when he keeps pecking his lips and his forehead.

"What are you up to next?" Harry asks, voice low and sexy and stroke-inducing. The costume feels so much heavier than it did five minutes ago. He might be suffocating.

"Get another cab to the hotel, once Liam's done taking an epic piss."

"I'll have you know I drank twice as much sake as you while we had to origami those paper cranes, _and_ I have the kidney thing," Liam grumbles from his stall.

"Shut up and piss, for fuck's sake," Louis snaps back.

"Right," Harry says over him. "I heard it's a traditional hotel."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"No shoes."

"I hate shoes. I love Japan."

Harry's smiling happily when he says, "A mineral spring on the balcony."

Louis isn't imagining the pointed tone. "Really now?"

"Yeah. Like a Jacuzzi only – not?"

Just the thought has Louis sighing. Burning the samurai armour, taking a shower, relaxing his muscles in hot water, perhaps drowning himself, perhaps... "D'you reckon anyone will film me taking a bath in a fake hot spring?"

"That'll be a bit awkward to air, right?"

"So it doesn't matter if I don't take it alone, then," Louis decides.

Harry's eyes widen like he hadn't been leading to exactly that proposition. "I don't imagine it does."

"Good. Liam could do with a bath."

Harry pinches Louis' arm just as Liam _indignantly_ flushes and steps out of the stall. "I'm not having a bath with you, not after the last time," is all he has to say. Louis rolls his eyes. Liam's tone is infinitely softer when he looks between Louis and Harry and says, "Ready to go? Long night."

"I am." It just might be.

It's Niall that steps out again. Something about sake and more sake and some sake and violently masturbating, whatever, even if it weren't just an excuse Louis slammed the door after him and proceeded to roll gracefully onto the bed. Which is basically just a mattress on the floor. He throws his legs in the air. "Look, Haz! No shoes!"

Harry's in the pyjama kimono thing the hotel provided when he steps out of the shower. It barely reaches his ankles, and he hadn't tied it properly. Louis doesn't hyperventilate solely due to the fact Harry usually wears his shirts unbuttoned or ripped or _wrong_ to show off his tattoos. Or be mean. "You still feeling the sake there?" Harry asks, looking quite amused.

Louis shrugs. "Might be. Disgusting, that. I have so many paper cuts, what a stupid fucking task." He lifts his hands up, then thinks better of it and taps the mattress next to him. Harry's looking at the bed warily. "Well?"

"Um. I'm not sure I'll be able to get up if I lie down," Harry confesses.

"Are you actually seventy years old?"

"It's just my back, you twat."

"Come on, I'll rub it for you." He wiggles his fingers, smirking up at Harry. "Come _on_ , I haven't kissed you in a week."

Harry has absolutely no poker face – his eyes are _sparkling_ at Louis – but he's still standing ten metres away. He will break, though. He seems unable to say no to Louis. "You kissed me two hours ago."

"After a _week_." He huffs for thirty seconds and then attempts getting up to stand with Harry. Only the most he manages is rolling around on the mattress, feeling like an uncoordinated puppy. This must be what's it's like to be Harry. "Oh my god, you were right."

"See?" Harry says, folding his arms over his chest. The kimono slips off one of his broad shoulders.

Louis does what anyone would do, and grabs Harry's ankle to topple him over. Harry's gasping and swearing, but doesn't have it in him to look offended. He mostly looks head-stuffed-in-pillows-and-Louis'-thigh right now. It's better than sustaining-head-injury-after-crashing-into-floor.

Not wasting a second, Louis manoeuvres so that he can fold himself on top of Harry. His face is so close. "Your eyes," he says, like an answer more than a random statement.

Harry blinks prettily. "Your cheekbones."

He has to bury his face in Harry's neck at that, fingers playing with the sash of his kimono. "I'm not sorry for tripping you."

"You know me, I would have tripped anyway," Harry says, tapping Louis' back resignedly. "Niall will just have to crowbar me up tomorrow."

He manages to undo the knot unnoticed. "Why would he need a crowbar? And where would he even get a crowbar?"

Harry sighs and waves his hand about. "A crane, I dunno. It's Niall, he knows everyone."

"Right," Louis says, slightly distracted. He got Harry's kimono slightly more dishevelled. He's looking at the top of the butterfly now. If Harry weren't so beautiful, this tattoo would just be rubbish. Maybe it is. Maybe if Louis weren't so into him, he would see that. Maybe that goes for a lot of things. (For instance, whenever Harry wanders off and looks confused, and instead of mocking his sense of direction Louis says, "Forgot where the runway is?")

Shivers overtake him for a second, and suddenly he realises Harry's pushed Louis' own kimono off his shoulders at some point. He's running his hands over Louis' chest and stomach, staring at him unblinkingly and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

It's not like Louis' proper ripped, but the race has toned his body some, all the running and lifting and booty classes. He likes that. He likes that Harry likes that enough for sneaky undressing.

Sad truth of life: cheeky boys usually get what they want. Louis pushes himself back so that he's straddling Harry's hips, and disrobes himself before tearing at Harry's sash. He's not sure why he expected him to wear pants at this point. "When you wear your skinnies – "

"Nope."

Right. That's. Good to know. Louis moves his hands from Harry's sides to his narrow waist, flutters over his slick skin. He digs his nails into the sharp V cut of his hips, over the tattoo, and feels his thigh muscles jump under him. "Lou," Harry mumbles, silently whining. He's already hard, Jesus. Louis flops over him again to give him a kiss (if it weren't for the sake he'd probably be _fluid_ or _graceful_ , but as it is he's a bit of a starfish). Harry's hands drag over his thighs and then hook behind his knees, making him shuffle forward, over his stomach, over his chest. Well.

Louis spent the past week in despair. No, he spent the past weeks in despair, a haze of mind-numbing exhaustion and stress. The past week was spent mostly missing Harry, thinking about Harry, fucking up his sleep pattern somewhere over the Pacific, and having Liam carry him everywhere. Three hours ago, he couldn't even think about getting it up. Now he has Harry's perfect mouth open a hair's breadth away from his cock, his eyes dark and focused and his lips are so so pink, this is unfair. So yeah, he's achingly hard when he asks, "Really?"

Instead of answering Harry stretches his neck up and sticks out his tongue until he's licking the very tip. Louis figures, yeah, really, and just moves closer, sticks a pillow under Harry's head (the only people he's considerate of, are people sucking his dick. It's a well-known fact), and slips his cock in, moaning when Harry's pink lips stretch around it. It's glorious.

The whole point of the position is for Louis to be in control, he reckons, but when he hesitates a moment too long Harry cups his arse with both huge hands and pulls Louis forward. Okay, Louis had innocently thought that the first time he'd have his dick in Harry's mouth wouldn't involve face-fucking, but it feels so good when he roll his hips gently and Harry's grip goes tight and his eyes close and he's so beautiful Louis' toes curl.

An hour later both their jaws ache too much to snog, so they end up having an existential chat about the race while in the fake hot spring. Harry seems to have already accepted not winning. He's oddly okay with it. "I'm oddly okay with it."

Louis shoves his leg between Harry's and clings to his side like that alone will keep him in the race. Niall might lock them out soon. "What makes you so sure you'll lose?"

Harry shrugs, turns his head into Louis' hair and flutters his hand over the surface of the water. "I know we're last place, so. And we have the penalty because we came last in South America, too. I just don't see us passing Lou and Tom, never mind Nick and Greg. Or, uh, you guys."

Somewhere during the utter Harry nonchalance of that sentence, Louis' petting became aggressive hugging and splashing. "Love, _anything_ can happen in the race. You could get a good head start tomorrow and pass us. There could be a task involving getting a haircut and you'll have Grimshaw out. Don't give up like that."

"Hey, I know," Harry says. "It's not like I'm saying no to a million pounds. And it'll be incredibly sad to leave so close to the final leg. I'm just saying, if we were sent home tomorrow, I wouldn't miss throwing up in the mornings or being constantly sun-burnt. Niall will be cool with anything, too."

It sounds like Harry's really thought this through. It makes Louis both sad and relieved. "I still think you have a good chance. I mean, sure, you keep literally falling all over yourself, and Niall has the attention span of a garden gnome, but you're both smart and determined and lovely. You're really strong partners, I don't know, I think that means something."

Harry pokes his ribs and buries his nose in his hair. "Lou, do shut up."

Like that ever worked. "You'll be a millionaire either way."

"Yeah?"

Louis settles his hand over Harry's tattoo. "Of course. With a name like that, are you kidding? You're a superstar waiting to happen."

Harry laughs, totally killing the serious mood. "Plus, when _you_ win the million you could be my sugar daddy."

Sitting in Harry's lap, sated and comfortable and happy, it's so easy for Louis to say, "Of course. You'll never have to get a job again. Unless we're talking about a – "

"Don't ruin this, Louis," Harry cuts him off, smooshing a hand over Louis' mouth. Louis licks it petulantly, grinning.

They bring each other off one more time and dry off. Back in Harry's room, Louis passes out like he's slipping into a coma. When he wakes up it takes him ten minutes to remember that he's in the wrong room with the wrong partner at the wrong time, and he grabs Harry's extra-large kimono, parkours himself to a standing position without gravely injuring Harry nor Niall, and dashes to his and Liam's room. It's still five a.m., apparently, so Louis plops quietly onto the cold mattress and then stretches over to pat Liam's back, just because he can and Liam's awesome.

**大阪**

 

 

The Pit Stop is in Osaka, and Louis and Liam come in second. They're so excited to have gotten into the final leg that they both tackle Zayn almost to the ground. Liam uses his hugging momentum to smell his fill of Zayn. Louis uses his hugging momentum to sneakily whisper, "Harry?", and then hide his expression when Zayn shakes his head no.

He fully intends to wait a few hours at the check-in mat for Harry and Niall to come third – or, well, the other option – but Zayn shakes his head some more, making Louis acutely aware of all the cameras and what he promised him just a week ago. He must look pathetic, since Liam claps his shoulder and Zayn says, "You smoke?"

He doesn't, but if it means hanging out with Zayn some more and not-wait, he could. Zayn shoos the production crew politely (perks of being a supermodel, Louis guesses) and lights up a cigarette, then sits down on a bench. Liam wrinkles his nose but sits down next to him. When Zayn offers him one, Louis refuses, making him laugh.

"Well, boys, how does it feel to come in second place?" he asks after a long and frustratingly attractive inhale.

Louis snorts. "We already did that bit."

"Then what d'you wanna talk about?" Zayn asks.

"The weather," he says, just as Liam replies, "The last leg."

"Um, the weather's nice." He glances at Liam. "It'll be nicer tomorrow."

Tomorrow is their flight to wherever. Zayn is a little shit. Liam grins at him, doesn't dare asking more. "Cool," he says.

Zayn looks very pleased with himself, so Louis figures he won't be very offended when he asks, "So what's it like for you here? From one millionaire to a future one."

Zayn seems to contemplate it for a bit. He's still sucking on the smoke and his hair has been especially fluffy in Japan. He looks like a cut-out from a magazine. Then instead of spreading poetic wisdom he says, "Lots of miso soup, basically," and Louis snorts a laugh. Zayn huffs. "And electronics! You have to check out the store at the train station by our hotel, it's sick."

That makes Louis laugh harder. "You'll give me free time for that, Zayner?"

"Whatever, _I'll_ buy you something, it's not like I have anything to do while you guys run around climbing mountains."

Louis gasps. "I thought you did all that shit too, just before us! And that's why you're so knowledgeable and kind at the Pit Stops!"

Zayn laughs around his smoke and Liam rolls his eyes. "Wait, so you probably have Internet access," Liam points out. "What's been happening in the real world?"

Zayn thinks it over. Again, instead of launching into a report about the civil war in Syria, he says, "Kim had the baby. Called her North."

Louis sputters _North West?_ But Liam has already fallen down the rabbit hole of Zayn's big brown eyes and compatible taste in music. Louis drifts off at that point, inhaling Zayn's cigarette smoke and looking around. The check-in mat is at the rooftop observatory of the Umeda Sky Building, the twelfth-tallest in Osaka. It strikes Louis that he can see the entire city from here, lights blinking back in the dark, and it's magnificent. He's in fucking _Japan_. This time last year, driving up to _Manchester_ was extreme.

He's so happy they made it so far, but when they're on Mount Fuji in Japan or at the Gate of Heaven in a shitty Brazilian favela, Louis wishes he could just be a tourist. Could just experience everything. Maybe he'll come back one day. When he can enjoy the view and not stare at the entrance and wait for Harry.

Maybe he'll come back with Harry.

"You could go there now," Zayn says to him, out of nowhere. Or maybe there was a prelude and Louis wasn't listening.

"What?"

"The station. With the shop with the Pokémon." He's putting out what could be the third cigarette, and looking at Louis somewhat apologetically when gesturing to the exit.

"Come on, we still have an interview to do," Liam says, tugging Louis up. "At least _try_ to look like we're gonna be millionaires next week."

Louis grins obnoxiously, showing all his teeth and crossing his eyes. Liam groans. "Why don't you ever pull _that_ face for the camera? Everyone's gonna watch it at home and you'll look fabulous and I'll suffer."

"I didn't come here to make friends," Louis says, flipping his fringe like he's seen Harry do countless times. Liam looks serious about heading back, so Louis sighs and thumps Zayn on the back. "You'll tell – "

"Yeah, sure," Zayn says, smiling dumbly. "Good luck, mate."

Even Zayn Malik couldn't bend reality, though. Harry and Niall come in last. Louis knows because he's at the front desk and he sees Nick shuffle in. He sort of wants to punch him in the face. More than usual. Running back to their room to tell Liam turns out to be a mistake, though, as by the time he's back downstairs Harry's already come back and been pulled to do an interview with Caroline.

It's crushing, really. Even though Louis' been preparing for it, he still held onto hope that Harry'll be with him in the final leg. Because he thinks Harry deserves a million pounds, or because he likes him better than Nick, or because Harry must be heartbroken and that makes Louis want to cry, or just because Louis will break down and Harry won't be there. (Or because Harry might just go home and get over him.)

So Louis doesn't think twice before crashing into the small "confession" room where the cameras are set up. Harry is the only one that sees him at first, eyes widening and mouth laxing in the middle of a sentence. Louis can smell the meltdown on him. He sees how sad he is, frustrated and defeated when he says he's so proud of Niall, and Louis just wants to bundle him up and take him on a magic carpet ride and throw money at him. Instead he steps in front of the cameras and hugs the daylights out of him.

Niall's cursing in surprise and the crew seems to take a mutual smoke break. If by the end of it Harry's sniffling, Louis is the only one that knows. (Not really, since Harry has a mic on him, but still.)

"Told you," Harry mutters.

Louis holds him tighter, contemplates climbing into his lap but decides against it. The folding chair might break. "You'll remember this moment when you're famous and you'll laugh," Louis promises, making Harry snort.

"I didn't think it would hurt so much," he confesses in an impossibly small voice.

"I know, love," Louis says, kissing the top of his head. "But you did so fucking well. Just think about going back to normal life. Ordering pizza to your shitty London flat and watching telly all day. Naked."

"Well, I did miss that."

"See? D'you know Kanye West called his baby North?"

Harry pulls back and blinks serenely. His eyes are a bit wet. "That's awesome."

Of course Harry would think that. Louis has feelings for an idiot.

"Do you mind?" Niall asks suddenly.

"Not at all," Louis confirms, and then pulls Niall's head in to join the hug. Niall seems content with that.

After some time, Caroline clears her throat politely. "We really need to wrap this up," she says, kind enough not to add _you have a six a.m. flight back to Heathrow._

Louis detaches himself very slowly to glare at her. Harry just looks a bit lost. He makes a decision. "Can I stay in the room?"

Caroline considers it, like Louis will actually leave Harry's side if she says no. "Will you stay quiet?"

"Of course Cazza, you know me."

She sighs and points to an empty chair behind the camera. The interview seems to be going better from that point. Harry's smiling more, at least, focusing on Louis' best funny faces when Niall answers all the questions because Niall can actually articulate and answer a question in less than ten minutes. Harry pipes up when Caroline asks about the best part of the race.

"Well," he starts, looking a bit shy at the camera. "I think that sort of depends on how you look at things." Which, obviously. Louis jumps up behind camera one to give him a thumbs up, and Harry covers his mouth for a moment. "I guess the best thing was meeting all kinds of people." Louis stops mid-rude-gesture and ducks his head for a moment. Harry is precious.

The second Caroline says the interview's over and the cameras are off, Louis rushes over to Harry again and tangles their hands together. Harry still looks rubbish, but at least he's looking at Louis. "So I know you need to be with Niall right now, but like, maybe later?"

Harry ducks down and kisses him. Louis tenses up, shocked, but only Niall and Caroline are left in the room, and no one says a word. Louis, okay, Louis could get used to this. It's not a gay thing anymore, is it, now that Harry's out of the race. It's just a thing. No, it's just gay. Louis giggles, but before Harry can say anything he reaches up to bury his fingers in his curls and stands on his toes to kiss him back.

He gives Harry his key card and bravely leaves him and Niall alone to lick their wounds. Liam lets him in, and then lets him cry on his shoulder for a bit, and then pushes their beds together and makes him go to sleep despite the fact Harry hasn't shown up.

He wakes up when Harry slips into his bed a couple of hours later, naturally spooning him. He's so broad and amazing, fuck. Louis' about to croak out some seriously mushy shit like, "Have my number so I can have your babies back home", but then he hears a cough that is distinctly Irish. He whips his head around and spots Niall planking next to Harry. "Well," he says. His voice is shot, but he doesn't really have anything to say anyway. "It's a cuddle party."

He shifts closer to Liam so they have more room, and then it becomes a quadruple snuggle session. He feels hot and comfy and loved, and it's awesome.

The second time he wakes up it's just him spooning Liam, and the alarm is so loud the slide doors are shaking. Louis has adapted to wake up only for Marimba, he has no idea how Liam's bionic watch manages to get them up in time each day.

"Um," Liam says. "I know it'll sound weird, but were there more people here during the night?"

The sick feeling in his gut at the lack of Harry is interrupted by a rush of laughter. "That does sound weird, Li."

"Must've been a dream," he says, shrugging Louis off and then hopping in for a shower. Usually Louis would fall back to sleep until Liam would shake him awake and yell at him, but this time he's sort of staring into space. He feels like he's missed something, or forgotten it.

It hits him after a second – they set the alarm to six a.m., which means Harry's, well, on a plane right now. He can't remember the last thing he's said to him; something about cuddles or babies. Louis' a fucking idiot sometimes.

He's trying not to cry again when Liam comes out of the shower, already dressed and ready to yell at Louis. When he sees Louis' awake he chills out, and then just looks at him in confusion. "When'd you get that one?"

"What?" Louis asks. Liam points to his right forearm, and Louis squints. "You know I can't see that far away, you knob."

"I meant your own arm, dickhead."

So Louis' a bit slow before sunrise. He looks down and right there, under the swallow, there's some ink Louis' never seen before. For a dreadful second he wonders if he's been sleep-tattooing or something. Then he looks closer and sees that it's a number, drawn on with a sharpie. He also sees that the paper plane and the teacup have been filled out with black ink.

It hits him so hard his breath stutters. It's Harry's phone number.

"I've never seen you this happy before noon," Liam says suspiciously. "Have you been sleep-tattooing?"

"Liam, you're an idiot." Then he leaps up and hugs him. "I hope today's crazy. I hope we win."

**Singapura**

 

 

It's the longest week of his life. The tasks are as gruelling as they've ever been, and being just three teams means the entire army of production crews is constantly on them. Sometimes Louis just has to remind himself to breathe. Especially when they have a fire-breathing challenge at the Hong San Si temple. And they run from temples to ferris wheels to malls, but it really all comes down to the final challenge. Which is tightrope walking 200 metres in the air between two skyscrapers, having only each other for support. It takes them two fucking _hours_ to get from one building to the other and back, including falling once and having to start all over again.

He can't even describe it. It's freezing and scary as all fuck and so hard to keep him and Liam balanced on a fucking tightrope. When they see Tom and Lou finish, Louis is seconds away from just letting go of Liam's shoulders and giving up, but Liam holds him tighter and somehow finds the strength to stand a bit steadier. He leans his forehead against Louis'. "Tommo, anything can happen. We're not giving up."

Liam hasn't taken no for an answer in ten years. Louis breathes in. He can't ask Liam for more. They take another step, and another. When they finally finish they both collapse on the deck, before even taking off the safety harnesses. They cry all over each other, messy and shaky and disgusting, and Louis doesn't even care because he can't believe he just did that. Liam's teeth are chattering and he can't speak, so Louis disentangles them and gets the next clue. They need to get to the Flower Dome at the Gardens by the Bay. That's it. They just need to not get lost, and maybe still beat Tom and Lou.

He drags Liam to a cab. They don't talk on the way, too afraid to get their hopes up. When they finally see the mat, Louis is so fucking nervous he can't take it. A pretty good distraction is seeing Harry and Niall clapping for them on Zayn's right, along with all the other eliminated teams. This is where he'd stumble over thin air. He tugs Liam faster and they leap on the mat together. He finally lets out a breath. Win or lose, they made it here.


	4. Europe Again (epilogue)

**England**

 

   


"You know I can take the tube, it's only ten minutes from the flat," Harry says, but Louis will have none of it.

"C'mon, I wanna give you a ride." He revs the engine and pats the seat behind him, trying to coyly seduce him.

Harry sighs and grabs the pink helmet. "Are you trying to get in my pants again?"

"Have I ever stopped?" It's not like Louis' ever been subtle.

Harry kisses the back of his neck once he settles down behind him, wrapping his arms around Louis' stomach. His legs are far too long to be on the back of the bike, so his feet are planted almost parallel to Louis' and his thighs squeeze around him. He giggles when Louis sighs and snuggles into his broad chest.

Okay, there may be selfish reasons for him wanting to drive Harry to and from the studio. 1) It's hot. 2) Their series of The Amazing Race started airing a month ago and they're actually getting recognised on the street, which is incredibly weird, so Louis thinks there's safety in numbers. 3) He got both the scooter and the boyfriend from the race, so the combination makes sense.

"Helmet," Harry reminds him, and Louis rolls his eyes. Though he often complains that his hair takes _work_ and isn't styled by chirping birds every morning like Harry, he likes his red helmet (and being alive) well enough. Harry's the one that picked their helmets, anyway, and Louis got him to sign the red one so he could sell it on eBay when Harry's album came out.

It's all rather insane. A month after getting back home, Harry got signed by some obscure label. "I think Ed got them to listen to my demos?" he said-asked. "They know how far Niall and I have come, and when the show airs in a few months we'll be plastered all over the UK, so. It's created an, um, opportunity."

To which Louis responded by smacking his shoulder and saying, "They signed you because you're brilliant. You sing like sin and you're beautiful and this is fucking mental and has nothing to do with fifteen minutes of fame."

(Whatever, Louis won second place, losing the million to Lou and Tom, and his fifteen minutes of fame will get him a chat show that'll run for five years. And a scooter that'll run for two. And twenty thousand pounds that he burns through. And Harry, that, well. Second place isn't that bad.)

When they get to the studio he figures that, while he's there, he might as well stick around, thus fulfilling his evil plan of watching Harry record his album and being supportive. Harry's amazing, really. It's been six months, and Louis found himself with a person that got him through the hardest thing he's ever had to do. A person who is even more ridiculous when he's not under extreme duress. When instead of scaling skyscrapers they listen to music and play with their conventionally-named cat, or go to Ed Sheeran concerts for free, or hang around parks. It was surprisingly easy to fall for that.

A few hours later Harry stumbles out of his booth and waves a magazine at him. Louis looks up from his phone – which happens to be upside down, since it was just a decoy and he spent half an hour watching Harry sing. "Look!"

Louis grabs the magazine and hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Harry's skinny jeans. He frowns when he sees himself on the cover of OK!. "What. We did that two _weeks_ ago."

"I know, they just gave me an early copy. It's cute, innit?" Harry sounds excited.

Since the series started airing, Harry and Niall, as Louis knew, became instant favourites. More surprisingly, Louis and Liam were also a popular team. The editors cut all their challenges and interviews to make them into a pair of dysfunctional superheroes. The driven, athletic guys who are in it to win it. At least they didn't air any of Louis' crying.

Even more surprisingly, two weeks ago they got to do a magazine interview together, along with Zayn Malik (who put them all to shame when cameras were on him). They didn't see much of him since the show ended, so they held back the interview to catch up and be obnoxious for an entire hour.

As far as the race goes, they couldn't give anything away in the interview, so instead of talking about how hard it was to come in only second place, they talked about how hard it was to find tea and chips in all corners of the world. The interviewer asked Niall if he was serious about half the things he said on the show ("Sometimes I think I just wanna hug the world, but then I remember that the stomach flu is passed on by touching, and I'm like, nah"). They asked Liam if he still did extreme sports at home after being rammed by an angry bull (Louis felt a pang of nostalgia. It's been ages since Madrid). They asked Louis if he took the rivalry with Nick Grimshaw seriously (Louis was this close to saying how crushed he would have been if Nick had won instead of Lou and Tom, who are now raising three adorable kids with the million pounds). They asked Harry if he was as much of a lady's man at home as he was on the show.

"What?" Harry asked, shocked, like living with Louis for three months erased how much of a flirt he was.

Louis came to the rescue, fingers brushing over Harry's bicep. "He's really not. He's just dangerously charming."

Clara, the interviewer, didn't seem entirely convinced. "Don't Italy and Spain know it."

"He's just friendly," Liam protested, offended on Harry's behalf.

Clara pushed one more time. "Are you single, then?"

Louis sort of saw that coming. He saw it from the moment he spied pictures of Harry and every girl on dry land in various rags. There were even pictures of himself and Eleanor from when they caught up at a Starbucks. He knows the speculations will start when people realise Harry and he keep leaving each other's flats because _it's the same flat_ , but he's not supposed to speed it along by admitting to anything. They all agreed to be discreet until the series finale airs. Then Louis fully intends to shout it from the rooftops and pelt random people with Harry's album.

As they had planned, Harry just said, "No," and gave Clara such a typical disarming smile that she had no choice but to move on to the race itself.

"So you four got on pretty well in the race," she prompted, like that wasn't the reason they were all doing an interview together.

"Yeah, brilliant," Liam said diplomatically.

"Wasn't it hard to get along? It's still a competition, after all."

"Well," Harry answered. Louis briefly wondered if Clara was ready for a ramble. "We really tried to focus more on getting through than on beating other people. I mean, you have to think about it, but you kind of try not to. I think that's what drew us to Louis and Liam in the first place – they really didn't scheme or plot, they got ahead simply by being good. The race is so extreme, it's like everything you do is life or death. Not being friends would have been a waste of energy. At some point I started relying on Lou almost as much as on Niall. It just kind of happened, I dunno, maybe it is weird."

"It's not, love," Louis said without thinking, the urge to touch Harry nearly unbearable.

Niall saved him from having to say more. "So I'm not good enough? Just because I don't have rubbish tattoos? No, it's because of my flat arse, right?"

To which Harry replied by groping him, and it went downhill from there. When they’d finally stopped tickling each other, Clara was already interviewing Zayn Malik about being Zayn Malik, so Louis figured they dodged the bullet. Trying to explain their quadruple co-dependent friendship without talking about him and Harry wasn't as impossible as he'd thought, though, since they're all best mates even months after the race. Liam and Harry can talk about music for hours, and if anyone isn't half in love with Niall there's something wrong with them. It's hard to remember they were once in direct competition. Unless they're racing their scooters, that's when all the old jokes come out.

Anyway, he remembers the interview, but he sure as hell didn't think he'd make the cover. Yet there they are, all four of them in boxing gloves with Zayn as a stylish ref of some sort. In the actual article they picked random pictures of them all group-hugging, so it's a bit of false advertisement. "Sign this for me," Louis says immediately. He's going to be a millionaire, one way or another.

Harry rolls his eyes, but he does sign it. Last week Louis got him to sign a parking ticket. Shit, two months ago he got an "H" tattooed on his hand. Maybe he just wants Harry to remember who his biggest fan is. (Harry got an "L". Then they accidentally got a ship and a compass. It's been a bit of a downward spiral of matching tattoos since.)

"D'you wanna read it?" Harry asks, adding a smiley with flourish.

And Louis will, obsessively, just like he'll read the next two, and the one where they come out, and the one just after Harry wins a BRIT award, and the edgy Rolling Stones cover Louis will wank to when Harry's on tour, and the one where Harry releases a third album and thanks the love of his life, the man who supported him throughout everything and always thought he was a pop star – his manager, Liam Payne, introduced to him by his husband. He'll have Harry sign them all and keep them in a special cupboard. (Harry will have his own cupboard full of DVDs of Louis' show. He only signed the first episode, though, just so Louis will remember who his first guest was when he rubs shoulders with celebrities every week.)

Right now, though, he just wants to take him home and make him a cuppa.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THAT WAS FUN. Thank you **Laura** for the lovely beta!  <3 Don't forget to comment on your way out! (psst [my tumblr](http://loaded-gunn.tumblr.com/))


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